Squalid box memories, Pantip revisted

I asked myself the other day what brought on Maiyuu's creative streak in the kitchen now that we have moved into our new condo in town.

I suspect Chef Maiyuu is capable of creating such wonders because he is content.

Maiyuu and I are much happier living in our new place in town, we realised the other day.

Back in Thon Buri, we lived in a foul old place - really, little better than a cramped apartment block where prostitutes crashed during the day before venturing out at night to ply their trade. It had no kitchen, so Maiyuu had to do his food preparation and cooking sitting on the floor.

A grotty place beset by noise from screaming children in the hallway and trains outside, it robbed us of the will to make something better of our lives.

'I would get up and not want to do anything...the place was just too awful,' said Maiyuu the other day.

It had no windows, just two doors leading on to a balcony opposite the main entrance. It pointed the wrong way, so rarely caught the breeze.

I could go on, but the thought is too depressing.

Yet this condo was one of the more expensive in the area, and almost constantly full. Many Thais live in even worse surroundings - box-shaped apartment blocks which I would hate to call home.

A young woman of the night, Joy, lived at the condo.

She was a pretty little thing who sold her body for money, and left a few years later when she fell pregnant.

'Joy was just one of them...the place was crawling with prozzies and kept women,' said Maiyuu, who knew her.

I never knew, though I often wondered why so many of the young women who lived there, only came out at night.

Good riddance!

-

Nine years ago when I arrived in the Land of Smiles, I would have found unusual a visit to the busy computer shopping centre, Pantip Plaza.

The place is full of young guys, so I am sure I enjoyed my first foray to Pantip way back then.

I have been there perhaps half a dozen times since. I paid another visit yesterday with my friend farang C, who took in his Apple laptop for repairs.

After eating a quick meal on the second floor, we looked around for shops willing to repair an Apple laptop on-site (hardly any, as it turns out).

'Hardly anything goes wrong with Apples, but when they do go wrong, they are hard to fix,' one Thai repair woman told me.

After half an hour of searching, we found a promising looking place on the top floor.

I did my Thai thing while farang C, standing by my side, made grumpy comments. He enjoys pecking at the Thai service staff, who in his eyes seldom seem to do anything right.

Sure, I saw plenty of young people - young men in all-white school uniforms, service staff in their 20s.

But really, the scene did not look spectacular. It was nothing unusual. I did not ogle over anyone in particular.

It was just another collection of people, but I enjoyed it for all that, as you might enjoy a walk in the park.

When I see Thais these days, I can appreciate their beauty, but I don't wonder about their lives.

They have become regular people, just like me.